Death on a Short Leash

by Gwendolyn Southin

  “It is a dog. What do you want? Ow!” Emily had dug her claws into Maggie’s arm on her way to making a flying leap to the top of the bookcase that held the few fragile pieces of china Maggie owned. “I’ll have to call you back!” Dropping the phone in its cradle, she made a grab for the cat and a Dresden figurine that was teetering dangerously close to the edge. She missed both cat and figurine and watched helplessly as the china hit the floor and smashed into pieces. Emily, now beside herself with rage, jumped onto Maggie’s shoulder and dug in her claws. “Ow! You little brat . . .” Yanking the cat free, she flung open the back door, pushed the animal out and then sat down to catch her breath and watch as Rosie devoured Emily’s food.

  “Damn! I forgot to buy dog food.” Wearily, she reached for the telephone and dialed her elder daughter’s number. “Sorry about that, Barbara. What’s the matter?” She knew something had to be the matter for Barbara to call so late in the afternoon.

  “You surely haven’t got a dog, Mother?”

  “No. I’m looking after it for a friend,” Maggie lied. “Now what’s up?”

  “It’s Father.”

  Maggie waited.

  “I’m so humiliated.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m trying to tell you. It’s bad enough with you dating that . . . that man.” Barbara’s voice wavered. “And it had to be my best friend that saw him.”

  “Saw him do what?”

  “He was having dinner with another woman, Mother. Daphne saw them in Oscar’s Steak House. Of course, she couldn’t wait to tell me.”

  “But that’s wonderful, Barbara. You should be pleased he’s not staying home and feeling sorry for himself.”

  “It’s not wonderful. It’s too humiliating. There’s you with that awful detective and now Daddy with another woman. And it’s . . . it’s all your fault.”

  “For God’s sake, Barbara, grow up.” She couldn’t help but give vent to her exasperation. “I’ve just come in and I’m wet and tired.”

  “But what are you going to do about it?”

  “Nothing. I’ll call you tomorrow.” She replaced the receiver with a bang and looked down at the little dog, now curled up in Emily’s basket and already fast asleep. It was going to be a long night.

  • • •

  WHEN SHE PHONED Nat the next morning, he demanded,“Where have you been? I tried to get you all yesterday afternoon . . .”

  “Nat,” she interrupted, “I think you better come over here and bring some dog food with you.”

  He paused for a moment. “Why do you want dog food?”

  “It’s a long story that I really don’t think you want to hear over the phone,” she said wearily. “Just come over. I’ll explain when you get here.”

  Her explanation did not go well. “I told you to wait,” he said. “It was a dangerous and silly thing to do.” Rosie was sitting at Nat’s feet, looking forlornly up at him. “Not only have you been trespassing,” he continued relentlessly, “but you’ve kidnapped this dog that doesn’t belong to you.”

  “But if you’d only seen the place, Nat. It was terrible. It was one of those puppy mills I’ve been reading about.” The tears came unbidden. “I couldn’t just leave her there.”

  “And that’s another thing,” Nat went on. “You don’t even know if this dog belongs to Prudence Williams.”

  “Prudence will know.”

  “For God’s sake, Maggie, you can’t just waltz over there and say, ‘I’ve brought your dog back.’ Especially if her husband’s mixed up in the scam. And what are you going to do with the dog for now?”

  Maggie was silent. She had to admit that Nat was right. She hadn’t thought it out properly. She looked down at the smelly little dog. “First I’m going to give her a good bath and some of that dog food.” She smiled tremulously at Nat. “And while I’m doing that, perhaps you could rustle up something for us to eat. I was too tired to eat last night.”

  “Oh, Maggie,” he replied, “what am I going to do with you?”

  Bathing a dog was a new experience for Maggie and Emily. The cat loved the sound of running water and was always present, sitting on the toilet, when Maggie bathed. Rosie, on the other hand, balked at the sight of the warm, soapy water, and by the time Maggie had managed to get the dog’s fat little body over the edge of the deep bath and into the suds, she was as soaked as the dog was. Emily sat on the toilet seat and watched the fun, but ran out of the bathroom and downstairs to Nat once Maggie had lifted the dog out to be dried.

  But later in the day, Emily was in for another shock. She found Nat, her third favourite person—Maggie and Harry came first and second—in an armchair reading the newspaper and the dog lying on the floor beside him, her nose on his foot. Emily hissed and Rosie opened one eye and got to her feet.

  “No, you don’t,” Nat said in a firm voice. “Sit.” And the dog did.

  Maggie came into the living room and scooped up the unhappy cat. “Sorry, Emily, but she’s here for today. You’ll just have to get used to it.” She turned to Nat. “Perhaps you should take Rosie home. She seems to have taken to you.”

  “No way,” he answered. “You brought the animal home, now you have to decide what to do with her.” He grinned. “Anyway, my place is far too small to hold me and a dog.”

  Maggie had to agree. His pad was a typical, one-bedroom bachelor apartment, four blocks from his office on Broadway. Sparse, no pictures or ornaments of any kind in the living or bedroom, a spotlessly clean kitchen with a fridge that was usually empty except for a carton of milk, a slab of butter and some stale cheese—he ate out most of the time. The tidy state of that kitchen always surprised Maggie, as the love of her life could look quite unkempt at times.

  “I’ll take her to Emily’s vet in the morning. He’ll be able to tell me when the puppies are due.”

  “Okay. Henny can manage the office until you come in. But you know that taking the animal to the vet is not going to solve the problem.” He bent down and scratched the dog’s ears.

  Maggie sat in the other armchair and stroked the cat until she calmed down. “Perhaps we should call George Sawasky.”

  “I hate to phone him on his day off,” Nat answered.

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. At least he can advise us.”

  George’s wife had him cleaning out the garage, and he was only too pleased to have an excuse to stop. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “George,” Nat answered, “Maggie has got herself into a tricky situation.”

  “What again?” he asked, laughing. “So what’s she been up to this time?”

  “For starters, she’s kidnapped a dog.”

  “Kidnapped a dog?” George laughed again. “I bet Emily just loves that. What’s the rest of the story.”

  “I’ll hand you over to the kidnapper and she can explain.”

  “And this was yesterday, Maggie?” George asked when she’d finished telling him.

  “Yes. George, you should’ve seen the state of those poor little dogs.”

  “And you said that this girl . . . Jasmine . . . called you?”

  “Yes. We met her on our first visit to the commune, and she knew we were looking for some kennels.”

  “But why did you kidnap one of the dogs?”

  “Oh!” Maggie answered slowly. “It’s sort of mixed up in one of our cases.”

  “But why did you take that particular dog?”

  “As I said, it’s part of an ongoing investigation. And we’d appreciate you not letting on about me taking the dog.”

  “I’ll alert the RCMP in Abbotsford about the puppy mill. And I’ll do my best to keep mum on your nefarious activities. But if you’re right, and this commune is running a puppy mill, the Abbotsford police will want to talk to you.”

  “Someone’s got to rescue those dogs,” Maggie answered grimly. “Try and keep us in the picture, will you?”

  • • •

  IT WAS LATE. Nat had returned to his peacef
ul apartment. Rosie, fed and warm, was snuggled down in a cardboard box in the kitchen, and Emily, still miffed, was curled up on Maggie’s bed, her ears pricked in case that dog should try to come in. Maggie was about to slip into bed when she suddenly exclaimed out loud, “Oh! Damn! I forgot to call Barbara and apologize for losing my temper.” She looked at her bedside clock. “I’ll call her in the morning.” She reached over and picked up her latest whodunit. Somebody else to be mad at her. “Join the club, Barbara,” she said, pushing the cat over. “Join the club.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “She’s in very poor condition, you know.” Dr. Kevin Follingsworth prodded Rosie’s bulging stomach and looked over to Maggie on the opposite side of the examining table. “And you say she’s a stray?”

  Maggie nodded, keeping her fingers crossed. “When are the puppies due?”

  “Just about anytime now. You could take her to the SPCA, but she’s quite a valuable little dog. Perhaps you should advertise.” He ran his hands over the quivering body. “Someone must be very upset about losing her.”

  “Does she need special medication or anything?”

  “She’s in need of TLC. Feed her up, keep her warm and calm. She’s in a very nervous state.”

  “Emily’s not too keen on sharing the house with her.”

  “I don’t suppose she is. But she’ll get used to it.” He lifted the dog down to the floor. “If you can’t find her owner, she’d make a nice companion for you.”

  “But what do I do when she gives birth?”

  “She’ll know what to do. Give me a buzz if you think there’s a complication of some kind. But she should be okay.”

  Maggie sat in her car outside the Kitsilano Animal Hospital and contemplated the dog sitting beside her. “Now what do I do with you?” Climbing into Maggie’s lap, the dog gave her a wet kiss. “Sit, there’s a good girl.” She caressed the little dog’s head and thought of what the vet had said about someone being very upset about losing her.

  • • •

  A HALF AN hour later, Maggie drew up in front of the Williams’ house, opened the passenger door and slipped the new leash she had bought onto the matching collar. Any doubt that the dog belonged to Prudence vanished when she saw the dog’s reaction. Rosie made little yips of excitement, jumping up and down on the sidewalk before pulling Maggie up to the front door. Maggie leaned on the bell a couple of times, but there was no answer. “Let’s go around the back.” But no one came to her repeated knocking. She peered through the sliding glass windows into the familiar dining area where Prudence had entertained Nat and herself. She could see it was deserted. No carafe of orange juice on the table this time. The two of them wandered back to the front of the house.

  “Is that Prudence’s little dog?” Maggie whirled around at the sound of the voice coming from beyond a four-foot-high brick wall. “She’s gained a lot of weight.” Maggie approached the wall and discovered that the voice belonged to a smartly dressed brunette about her own age. She was standing beside a grey car.

  “There doesn’t seem to be anyone in,” Maggie said.

  “The two of them went off yesterday.”

  “Any idea where?”

  The woman shook her head. “Only thing I know is Prudence didn’t want to go. You a relative or something?”

  “No. I was . . . looking after her dog. You said that Mrs.

  Williams didn’t want to go . . . ?”

  The woman leaned over the wall. “They were having one hell of a row. He practically pushed her into the car. Funny you’ve got the dog, though.”

  “Why?”

  “Pru said that mean son of a bitch had either put it down or sold it.”

  Maggie moved closer. “You don’t think much of him?”

  The neighbour snorted. “Don’t know why she married him. Second marriage, you know,” she added conspiratorially.

  “Hers?”

  “Williams’ first wife up and left him shortly after their daughter was born.” The woman stopped suddenly. “You’re not with the police, are you?”

  “No.” Maggie started down the path toward her car, then turned back. “Mrs. . . .”

  “Betteridge. Call me Joan.”

  “Joan, has Carl Williams been back?”

  “Late last night by himself.”

  Maggie delved into her shoulder bag and handed the woman a card. “Do you think you could be quiet about my visit?”

  Joan Betteridge read the card and then raised her eyebrows. “You investigating Williams?” She lowered her voice. “What’s he been up to?”

  Maggie leaned closer to Prudence’s neighbour. “Can’t discuss the case, but I would appreciate any help you can give me.” She bent down and picked up the dog. “And I’d really like to know where Prudence has gone. My home phone number’s on the back.”

  “I’ll call you right away if I find out anything,” Joan Betteridge said, getting into the grey sedan.

  • • •

  “OH, MY,” Henney exclaimed when Maggie and Rosie walked into the office. “Where you get the poor thing?”

  “Long story, Henny. Tell you later.”

  “Office no place for a dog,” Henny said, looking down at Rosie in disgust. “What will boss say?”

  “I’ve brought an old blanket from home.”

  “She’s having puppies, ja?”

  “Hopefully not today,” Maggie answered shortly.

  “Thought I heard you come in,” Nat said from his doorway.

  Then he saw the dog. “Oh, no! You didn’t bring the damned dog here!” Rosie, hearing his voice, struggled to her feet and padded over to him.

  “What else could I do? Don’t worry, I’ll think of something,”

  Maggie answered brightly, not having the slightest idea what.

  “Have you heard from George?”

  “Not yet.”

  • • •

  EDWIN SLATER ARIVED on time. A man in his late fifties and of medium height, his brown hair tinged with aristocratic grey, he was dressed in a neat, blue pinstriped double-breasted suit. “Well,” he thundered, as soon as he sat down opposite Nat, “what did you find out about that money-grabbing place?”

  Maggie placed a cup of coffee at his elbow before taking her own chair and flipping open her notebook.

  “On first sight it seems to be very well run,” Nat said.

  “I know that,” the man said testily, “but what about the way they get their patients to leave money to them?”

  “As I explained to you on the phone,” Nat replied, “we need to get a lot more information from you before we can go any further.

  For instance, how long did your mother live there? Did she complain of any ill-treatment? Was she pressured into leaving money to them?”

  “Isn’t that what I’m paying you for—to find out?”

  “Yes,” Nat answered patiently, “but your mother can’t provide us with this information. We need you to think back to when she was a resident at Silver Springs. So let’s take one question at a time. How long did she reside there?”

  Slater gave an audible sigh. “Three years. She was living in her own apartment in Kerrisdale, but things got out of hand. Kept forgetting to turn off the stove, things like that. She was also getting very deaf, and the neighbours complained about her radio being too loud. She got lost a couple of times—couldn’t remember where she lived. Eventually, I insisted she sell her apartment and come and live with us. That didn’t work out—she upset the wife.”

  “Was she happy at the nursing home?” Maggie asked, looking up from her notepad.

  He glared at Maggie before returning his attention to Nat. “At first she kept on to me to take her back to her old apartment, but then she seemed to settle in and even made friends with a couple of people there.”

  “What makes you think she was pressured into leaving her money to the nursing home?”

  “Well, it stands to reason, doesn’t it? She left them ten thousand dollars.”

 
; “What about contesting the will?” Maggie asked.

  He ignored her, addressing his response to Nat. “My lawyer says the will is air-tight. I want you to prove that they got at her.”

  “That’ll be a bit hard at this late date,” Nat answered.

  “Can’t you talk to those other old biddies in the place? There must be some of them who still have their marbles.”

  “Are you the only son?” Maggie asked, thinking that if he was, the poor woman hadn’t done so well with this one.

  Again he spoke directly to Nat. “I have two married sisters but they live on Vancouver Island.”

  “Did they visit?” Nat asked.

  “Not often. They said they couldn’t afford the ferry. Just left me to do everything for Mother,” he added peevishly.

  “Why did you or your mother choose the Silver Springs?” Maggie asked.

  Now he turned to Maggie, answering her as if this had been the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “Because they would let her keep her damned Pekinese there, of course. Wonton or some silly name like that. They have kennels for small dogs right on the premises, so my mother could have the animal up for a visit during the day and take it for walks on the grounds.”

  “Somewhat unusual, isn’t it?” Nat said.

  “That’s why the damned place is so expensive. But,” he sneered, “they only allow the best kind of dogs. Pedigreed, you know. No common or garden variety mutts.”

  “What happened to the dog after your mother died?” Maggie asked.

  “The resident vet found a home for it.”

  “That was handy,” Nat answered wryly. He stood up and extended his hand across the desk. “Perhaps you would give my assistant the names and addresses of your sisters and your mother’s friends in the nursing home.”

  Pausing beside Maggie’s desk on his way out, he told her disdainfully, “The only names I can remember from that place was a Dolly something-or-other and some old guy named Hugh.” And he started for the door.

  “Did you visit your mother very often?” she asked.

  “I’m a busy man.”

  “What about your wife?”